The Mysterious Case of Patient H
by deepfathom
Summary: After getting stuck in the 21st century, Hiccup lands himself in a high security psychiatric facility. -My take on the "Hiccup time travel" concept. (Probably won't be continued, at least not in the near future.)
1. The Waking

**A/N: I am not a fan of gigantic author's notes, but please try to bear with me as I explain what's going on here. This isn't really a chapter, nor is this an actual "story" in the traditional sense because I haven't solidified anything yet. This is simply me throwing out an idea and getting it down in short bursts that might come together into something more coherent one day. For now, consider each "chapter" a separate scene, another piece of the big picture, a stand-alone exploration into my version of the "Hiccup gets stuck in the 21st century" idea.**

 **As most of you know, this idea has been done before. A lot. Almost to death, really, but I couldn't pass up the intriguing thought that crossed my mind one early morning a couple weeks ago.**

 **And that thought was this:**

 ** _Stuck in the future, Hiccup lands in a psychiatric facility._**

 **That was pretty much it, but…I liked it. I really liked it. Why? Because it makes total sense.**

 **If a guy wearing weird armor, shouting in ancient Norse, and swinging around a sword made of fire suddenly plopped into the streets of your generic 21st century city, there's no way he wouldn't be committed. There would be chaos, there would be confusion. People would be afraid of him and rightly so. He would be disoriented, unable to communicate with anyone, possibly injured, terrified of everything around him and definitely on the defensive. In short, everyone he came into contact with would think he's completely insane, dangerous to himself and others and in need of immediate treatment. And naturally, Hiccup would have no idea that they're trying to help him. Only aware that he's stranded alone in a foreign, hostile environment, he just might actually start coming unhinged.**

 **….**

 **The Mysterious Case of Patient H: The Waking**

Every part of him, inside and out, burned with the ache of defeat. It wasn't an easy sensation to ignore, which was probably why it was the first to infiltrate the black mist blanketing his mind. Pieces of thoughts and feelings floated together to create a patchy memory, interspersed with glimpses of information about his current state.

 _He was in the air with Toothless, just the two of them, taking one more grand, sweeping loop for the fun of it before heading home to Berk. Then came the sudden white-hot force that threw him out of the saddle, separating man and dragon before either had a chance to react._

 _(Lying…on a bed…not mine…)_

 _He screamed, flailed, clawed uselessly at nothing but air in a dead plummet through empty space. The landing came sooner than he expected and was abrupt and hard, not on the mossy ground of Berk, but a dirty, hostile world excruciatingly foreign from his own._

 _(Too quiet…except the chirping, whirring, beeping…don't know any birds or dragons that make sounds like that…not on Berk…)_

 _He opened his eyes in the shadow of two impossibly high walls of grimy brick, stumbling out of a narrow alleyway to the sight of people. A lot of them. Very much like him, but strangely, freakishly dressed and staring at him as if he'd sprouted an extra head or two. He remembered the pair of muscular men in blue wearing metal badges and belts with all kinds intimidating gadgets attached. As they took unwelcome notice, the reality of his situation shocked him into him the primal instinct to defend himself._

 _(Something on my face…cord…looped around my ears…shoots air up my nose?…but different…not salty, not musty…doesn't even smell real…)_

 _There was a scuffle. He, with_ Inferno _ablaze, swinging, punching, ducking and running for his life. They, without any kind of weapon that he recognized, chasing after him and shouting threatening nonsense. He sprinted through the dizzying maze between monstrous towers and fortresses made of stone, metal and shining glass._

 _(Something poking my arm…stings…a needle?...feels so cold…)_

 _Then he was cornered, having no choice but to run directly into the path of one of those oddly shaped, brightly colored metal wagons coursing along a black road at lightning speed like blood through a vein. He felt the collision, an incredible explosion of pain, then the rough, solid ground as his body met it full force. Confused, shaken faces swam above him…_

 _No… No, it was just a dream…complete nonsense...some crazy, awful nightmare..._

Eyes still closed, Hiccup turned his throbbing head slightly to the side, opening his mouth. It took a couple tries to get anything out of it other than a dry rasp.

"T…Tooth…less…?" he mumbled.

They must have crash-landed. It was a rare occurrence, but it did happen occasionally, even to the best of riders. He wasn't on the ground, so someone had probably found them and brought them back to the village while he was still unconscious.

"G-Gothi…?"

The healer had to be somewhere in the room, if not nearby, ready as always to patch him up and send him on his way with her signature disapproving frown.

There was no answer. In fact, no one seemed to be listening to him, or to be there at all. Gothi wasn't the talkative type, but he would have at least heard her shuffling around, scratching and tapping the wooden floor with that staff of hers…wouldn't he? Despite his bleary, battered state, Hiccup gathered that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Uuugh," he groaned, heavy eyelids peeling apart. "Wh…what happened? Astrid? H-hello?"

Everything was a nauseating blur, but it was not hard to tell that he wasn't in his home, in his bed where he should be. Instead of thick wooden beams above him, there was nothing but stark white. At the center of this ceiling, a glowing square produced a cold, dim, unnatural light.

 _Witchcraft…?_

It was the first conclusion his hazy thoughts were swept to. He had never been the superstitious type. It just wasn't in his nature to go around blaming strange or unfortunate occurrence on black magic or the anger of the gods. There was always a reasonable explanation behind everything…except for this. This was far beyond anything he'd ever known or experienced. And it was terrifying.

At this, adrenaline began to course again and one of the steady beeping noises picked up pace. He turned toward the sound, catching sight of the metallic box it emanated from. A series of colored zig-zag lines raced across its front like tiny, infuriated snakes. The beeping, he realized to some astonishment, was somehow exactly in step with his pounding heart. He was hearing his own heartbeat…? It was more than a little disconcerting, which only made the speed of the beeping increase.

Now wide awake, his vision clearing, Hiccup was hit head-on with the full comprehension that none of those memories had been part of a nightmare. They were real. Every single one of them. His stomach churned, causing panic to build up within him like magma beneath a dormant volcano. All around, wires and tubes hung like vines, alarming contraptions whirred and chirped while colorful dots of light blinked. His armor and clothes had been replaced by a loose, thin robe-like garment that did little to ease the chill and his sword was nowhere to be found. Raw fear struck him to the core.

"Toothless?" he called out uncertainly for his friend "Astrid? C-can you hear me? Is anybody there?"

Relative silence dropped on him like a stormcloud. No one came running. No familiar faces appeared at his bedside to comfort him, to reassure him that everything would be all right. There was no scuffling of claws on the floor, no slobbery greeting-lick to the face, no tall, proud blonde with a warm kiss meant just for him hidden within her smile…

He was alone, lost and completely defenseless in this bizarre alien world. He didn't belong here. He had to get out. He had to get home.

The attempt to raise a hand to pull the annoying cord thing from his face was an immediate failure and brought with it a sharp, stinging jab. Alarmed, he looked down to find a long, translucent tube attached to a needle sticking right out from the pit of his elbow. Following it, he found it to be siphoning steady drips of a clear liquid from a bag hanging above him, feeding some kind of wicked poison into one of his veins. Not only that, but each of his arms was tethered to the railing running along the side of the bed with a padded cuff around the wrist. Upon further inspection, he discovered that his legs, prosthetic included, where strapped down in a similar fashion, but to the bed instead of the railing.

"No," he said, giving the restraints a tug. "No! What's going on?!"

Again and again, he pulled and twisted, rattling the railings in the process, but the ties were much too strong. He was trapped, confined to this barbaric torture chamber to await an unknown fate.

Regardless of the pain spreading through his head, sheer horror sent him sitting bolt upright, yanking at the tethers with everything he had.

"Toothless!" he screamed over the sudden, rapid cacophony of beeping and chirps, willing the dragon to hear him. "TOOTHLESS! HELP ME!"

A door on his right burst open, admitting several men and women in matching teal uniforms. They rushed to either side of him, speaking urgently from behind white masks in a language he couldn't understand. Two of the newcomers, both sizable men, took it upon themselves to try and force him down again, but without much success.

"Toothless!" Hiccup shouted at them, thrashing violently. "My dragon! Get away! Let me go! I've gotta find my dragon!"

More hands grasped at him, more noises and flashing lights invaded his senses, more unintelligible words came at him, not one of them getting through.

He wanted his best friend right now more than anything in this world or his own. He wanted him to swoop in and drive away these fiends with a mighty growl and a single flick of his claws. He wanted him to bite easily through the tethers and blast this place to bits before the two of them flew away to safety.

"I can't understand you! I can't—where am I?! Why are you—NO! What're you doing to me?! STOP! PLEASE STOP!"

A fresh wave of cold flooded into him from the needle, travelling rapidly up his arm and into his head. The room tilted out of focus.

"TOOTHLESS! P-please, bud, you've gotta…you've gotta hear me! I need you! I NEED YOU!"

He had to fight this! He had to hold out in hopes of rescue or escape! He wasn't going to let these strangers take him down so easily. The potion, however, was trickling in too quickly, seeping through his limbs, muddling his mind and dampening his will to resist.

"Toothless! I need…I need…I…"

Eyes rolling back, he sank limply into a murky lake of defeat.

"T-Tooth…"

It was over. The dark rolled in.


	2. The Patient

**The Mysterious Case of Patient H: The Patient**

"Right this way, gentlemen," the clipboard-toting doctor said, motioning for the two visitors to follow.

The first, a blonde and bookish man with intelligent eyes behind a pair of glasses, started after him immediately. The second, tall, silver-haired and dressed to the nines in formal US Military attire, was a little less enthusiastic in his response, trailing several steps behind.

As was to be expected in such establishments, the atmosphere in the long hallway was chokingly sterile, the lighting cool and uninviting, the people a disquieting mix of both. Stone-faced doctors, nurses and assistants hurried past the rows of doors, all of which were locked tight, sealing off those behind them from the world. With a slight shudder, the taller man had to wonder if it was really for the protection of the individuals occupying these rooms…or more for the ones on the outside. There weren't many things that could get under his skin, but this high security psychiatric research facility was definitely on the list.

The group made a left as the doctor continued.

"We call him 'Patient H'. We haven't been able to learn his real name yet. The police brought him in a few months ago after he was found wandering the streets one day while wearing this strange warrior-type costume. I hear he put up quite a struggle once they caught up with him, shouting gibberish and using some kind of flame thrower and aerosol explosive device."

"Yikes," said the military man. "I can see why they wanted him committed, although I'm not sure anybody should ever have to be stuck in a place like this."

"I assure you, Colonel, our patients receive respectful, quality treatment from highly trained—"

"Gibberish?" interrupted the civilian counterpart as they came to a stop at the very last door in this corridor. "You mean no one could understand anything he was saying?"

"Yes, Dr. Blake. Not a word, and he didn't seem to be able to understand us either. He certainly wasn't screaming in English, or any other known language, for that matter. At first he was very violent, very vocal and we had to restrain him until he was too exhausted to fight anymore. After that, he just…stopped, went completely silent. Now we can't get so much as a sound out of him, gibberish or not."

After a swipe of an ID badge and a few taps on a keypad, the door made series of soft clicks and opened.

The small room behind it was plain, grey and dismally lit by the tiniest slit of a window. There wasn't much else occupying the space other than a cot, a table, and a hunched shadow in one corner. The two visitors exchanged an uneasy glance before stepping inside. There was a long, long silence while they observed the hollow shell of a human being in front of them.

He was young, seeming to have only recently crossed the border into adulthood. He was skinny. Almost too skinny, but it was easy to guess why at the sight of the cold, barely touched tray of food sitting beside him on the hard floor. Huddled with his arms wrapped tightly around his legs (one of which, the two noted, ended in a prosthetic), his forehead rested on bent knees in a pose of utter despair. His auburn hair was trimmed close to the skull, probably to keep him from tearing it out by the roots.

The Colonel had to look twice just to be sure the patient was breathing since he made no stir at their entrance. The most unsettling feature of the scene, however, were the rune-like gouges and scratches covering the walls on either side of his corner, which explained the absence of any silverware on the tray.

"Is…is he always like this?" asked the Colonel, slightly horrified.

"Well, like I said, he wasn't at first," the doctor answered. "His condition has declined significantly since he was admitted. We haven't quite nailed down what's wrong with him yet, but it's almost as if...well, as if he's given up on existing."

"Yup. Quality care, right here."

The doctor flashed him an insulted glance. "We're doing the best we can with an exceptionally difficult case, Sir. He _is_ the one you're looking for, isn't he?"

"Pretty sure," Dr. Blake said, squatting in front of the young man to run a couple fingers over the damage on the wall.

"May…may I ask why the government is interested in one of our most unstable psychiatric patients?"

The Colonel raised an annoyed eyebrow, shrugging.

"Sure, you can ask…" he enjoyed the doctor's uncomfortable fidgeting for a moment before getting around to the rest of his answer, "and there are a few dozen reasons, actually, but they're all classified. Sorry."

"These runes…" Dr. Blake said, standing up suddenly, "these runes…are in Old Norse."

"Ok, we've seen weirder," the Colonel nodded. "Well, Blake, what do they say? I know you've already translated it."

"They mostly spell out the words 'help me' over and over again, but I thought I saw something about a black dragon, which is different…" Blake trailed off, buried in his thoughts. "D'you know what this means?"

"Uh, no. That's why I asked you."

"Ok, well, that time-distortion anomaly—"

The Colonel raised a finger. "Ah-ah, we've been through this. You know how touchy the military gets about its anomalies."

"Anomalies…?" asked the confused doctor.

The Colonel shook his head. "Trust me, you don't wanna know, because then you would probably have to disappear. Forever."

The doctor gulped as his face paled.

"Uh…I'll be right back," he said, slipping through the crack in the doorway. "I just…remembered an important item of business that needs my immediate attention."

"Good idea."

Dr. Blake prattled on. "This…this is _huge_! The scientific and historical implications will turn academia on its head. Just imagine what can be gained from such a unique opportunity!"

"Blake," the slight note of reprimand in the Colonel's voice brought the researcher back to earth. "The kid's a person, not an artifact, and he can't stay here. I mean, look at him! Not only does he look half-dead already, but you said yourself that he's scribbled 'help' all over the wall."

"Right, right," Blake agreed after a moment, sounding more disappointed than apologetic.

"If he really is what we think, if he really is a...a Viking or whatever, then he doesn't belong in the twenty-first century and won't survive if we don't find a way to fix this."

Blake stood, stroking his chin, then began to pace. "Yes, yes, there's the cultural barrier, for one thing, not to mention the physical differences between our time and his. And let's not even start on the language—wait a minute…that's it."

"Uh…that's what? What happened? You were on a roll."

"That's it!" he repeated, snapping his fingers. "Language!"

"But of course." The Colonel tapped the side of his head. "Language. Is it ever anything else?"

At that moment, the doctor returned, looking slightly less flustered.

"Doctor," the blonde researcher addressed him, ignoring his colleague's automatic shot of sarcasm, "would it be all right if I tried communicating with him? I think I might know how to get through."

The doctor frowned, then heaved a sigh. "I don't see why not, but good luck getting any kind of response. We've tried everything there is to try, I'm sure of it."

"Well, probably nothing like this." Grinning, Dr. Blake resumed his crouch before the young man. " _Hello_ ," he greeted in Old Norse after clearing his throat purposefully.

To everyone's surprise, the young patient twitched.

" _Hello_ ," he repeated, " _can…can you hear me_?"

The head lifted slowly from the knees to reveal a pale, narrow face with a pair of sunken green eyes set in hollow sockets. It was like staring into the face of some long-tormented ghost.

" _Yes, um, my name is Dr. Blake. I'm a researcher, a…a scholar. I study cultures different from my own and try to learn all I can about…well, about people like you."_

The eyes widened, blinked once, twice…

"What's he saying?" murmured the doctor.

The Colonel shrugged. "No idea. Blake's pretty much the only person on the planet who's figured out how to speak Ancient Norse. Y'know, dead language and everything. Kind of why I brought him along."

" _Can you understand me?"_ the professor pressed.

After a tense moment, hopeless desperation flooded the room as two skeletal arms slowly extended to grasp the cringing Dr. Blake by the shoulders. The young man's parched lips split apart and out of his mouth crackled a dry voice that hadn't seen use in weeks.

" _Help…please help m-me. I need to get home."_


End file.
